


No Furi in a Voice

by CapriciousVanity



Category: Furi (Video Game), Furi - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Game Spoilers, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 20:30:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8116486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapriciousVanity/pseuds/CapriciousVanity
Summary: Short post-game fluff and angst because I need something to satiate my needs for this game.





	

Rider stepped through the portal after a moment of quiet ponder. The young girl behind him, stuck in a pose of pleading as her corpse would eventually stiffen like that forever – she had done nothing wrong, had she? She didn’t even fight him. Rider glanced behind him, past the crimson of his coat collar. He stepped forward, to follow the violet voice out into the world he was promised. The strange creature beneath a rabbit’s mask hid many secrets, some Rider felt he only began to uncover. Was _he_ the architect? Did he help build this prison? Why had he been taken here? And lastly, not a question, a statement. He was a father. Rider had no idea how to quite understand familial relations. Or any, for that matter, outside of order and control, outside of enemy and opponent. He stepped through.

Outside, he raised his arm. The synthetic light of prison after prison was soft, gentle on his odd-colored eyes, easy enough to see through, even in the glare of snow or beating heat of hard desert or soft sand. Here, it wasn’t regulated. It was whatever the sun felt like producing. It stung for a moment, before his eyes adjusted. He saw the world, the grass, the real grass. Buildings in the distance (Ready for assimilation), the water ponds further to the left (Hydration and sustenance – this planet is covered in 71% water, more than enough to filter and sustain a populace), the wind was quiet, a soft breeze against his skin that flitted his torn, red, coat (78% Nitrogen, 21% Oxygen, .9% Argon, less than 1% trace gases – the air stung his lungs. It will be corrected.).

He stepped further, but the dark shadow before him caught his eye. The grass, it withered, the dirt evaporated into the air, the ground directly beneath his feet crumbled. A slight tilt of his head, and realization weighed in his heart. (Objective: Inconclusive).

He looked around. His ship will be near, he remembers this place. It’s been so long. His hair is weightless, yet still has weight, heavier than it should be. A vague recollection of purpose.

He takes a few cautionary steps further, grass withers. Insects buzz and fall to their deaths.

His hand by his hilt adjusts the weight of his carbon saber. He chances the burst. Rider sweeps across the grass, allowing it to rot before, beneath, and behind him. He runs, and runs, knowing where he should go, but as he slows to a slow jog then halt, he catches violet to the side. As he looks, a familiar voice is heard, but what it says is unknown. It is speaking quietly, mellifluously, to a small creature, similar in genetic makeup, a percentage of DNA indicates same species, not clone, copied creature. Child. It spots him, and the voice has eyes that follow its gaze. Rider contemplates, still. Protocol must be kept. He’s made it this far, a moment longer couldn’t hurt. Will it? He’s here from obligation. He decides, for a moment more, he has the choice to step away from obligation, and seek momentary escape. Something eases inside, ephemeral as it may be. Just as swiftly, tension rises in him again. This is not a battle.

He reproaches. The small creature – child – it – she – runs away. It is not fear. It is not afraid. She is not afraid. Only cautious. Clever girl, quick on her feet. Good soldiers, quick on their feet. The thought comes and goes, as he approaches. He stops, just as the edge of his rot and decay reach the personal space of the voice that had guided him. The grass is dark in his space. The grass is greener on the other side.

“You’ve done so well. I know it was hard,” assures the voice. Soothing, kind. Always.

“But now you know.”

Objective: Inconclusive.

“Maybe you think I’m insane, or… Maybe you understand. You were my only chance.”

Rider keeps still, keeps quiet. Protocol. Obey. Say nothing. Only be spoken to. That is what you are made for.

Rider understands. There is a sad tinny in the violet voice.

“I hoped it would change you. I think it did.”

Too well. Obey protocol. There is no room for interference. The voice is interfering. Rider allows it.

“It doesn’t really matter.” The child is running back. She hides behind the violet voice. Curious thing. There is no room for interference. There is no room for curiosity.

“What does matter, is what you are going to do.”

Rider agrees. Silent, still, eyes glance to the small girl. Back to the violet voice. A sad smile is given to him. Perhaps it is hope.

Rider steps forward, the voice is still, the girl runs into the tall grass. Rider sees, he stops, he hesitates.

The voice contemplates. It observes.

“Hmm…”

Rider awaits, one foot forward.

“That’s the second time you’ve done that,” the voice explains. “You hesitated. Why? Why did you hesitate last time? Why now?” The voice was fervent, new results intriguing.

Rider kept his head down, but eyes locked to the nose of the mask.

Arms crossed, dark cape covering an arm.

“Do you think it’ll hurt? I wonder…”

Organic material is capable of withering under assimilating decay.

Rider hesitated. The voice did not. It stepped forward, closer to the edge of death. Rider took a half step back, straight, head up, hand defensively clutching the hilt of his carbon blade.

“What’s this, now?”

Rider took two more steps back, knees bent, ready.

“You think it will, don’t you? But why should you care?”

The voice came closer, disregarding the tension Rider clearly displayed. His hand shook against his blade for but a moment. The voice may not notice, but the Rider did. Revenge, Hurt, Hurt, You. An echo of poison and green danced through the Rider's mind. Contamination. 

He stared intensely at the edge of death, the beginning of life. The voice crossed the border into desolation. The hem of purple trousers eroded, slowly, gently, flitting in the air like dust. Nothing more. Rider exhaled, releasing the death-grip from his sword. Straight, tall, ready.

“Interesting…”

The voice approached, every movement creating more dust.

“Can you control it, I wonder. Is it a part of you, of your very being? Could you live in this world if you so choose? So many questions. But we do not have the time to answer them, do we. Too bad...”

The voice was before him, closer than it’s ever been, but still enough distance. Rider noticed, for a fraction of thought, violet was taller than crimson. A strange emotion, amusement. A weak creature, a voice, a strange masked thing – taller than a soldier.

"Maybe, just maybe... Fishface might've had a chance, after all. But that's in the past. It doesn't matter now."

Odd eyes stared intently at the mask. The voice reached, then, as hesitant as the soldier. Fingers, callous with work, brushed the soldier’s synthetic skin. The subtle honeycomb pattern may not be seen, but it could be felt.

“Hmm… No wonder you’re impossible to kill,” it spoke. He said it gently.

Rider glanced to the hand, to the wrist, and did not look back to the mask. Fingers by his jaw, electric. Rider allowed this. He closed his eyes. The voice would soothe a savage beast.

“Look at you now,” it whispered. He whispered. “I hope you make the right choice, Stranger.”

The touch was gone, eyes open, the violet was gone. 


End file.
